


Just Pick the Right One (or Harry Potter Needs to Get a Job)

by Lostris



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Harry, HP: EWE, M/M, Male Slash, Office Sex, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2224431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostris/pseuds/Lostris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment he left the Aurors, Harry had been making an increased nuisance of himself with his new found free time. So his friends, instead of killing him and feeding him to the Manticores (plan A), decide to ask the help of a professional.</p><p><b>Career Choices:</b> Harry: multiple careers; Draco: career counselor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Pick the Right One (or Harry Potter Needs to Get a Job)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [digthewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter/gifts).



> For [Prompt # 159](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NnIZtnyWEqbQHgi3U6N1CwbznCTkDeZGWJqgEw6KRrQ/).  
> Writing this was a lot of fun, so I would like to thank **digthewriter** for the lovely prompt that had me falling in love with the idea right away! An even bigger thanks goes to my awesome beta **broken_amehtyst** , who had to keep up with me being constantly late and had the enormous patience to go through all my mistakes and misphrasings. I don't know where I would be without her!

Harry wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving behind a smear of white paint. He stood and turned to admire his handiwork, stretching his back now tense with fatigue.

 _Ah_ , he thought, _perfect_.

The subtle art of manual labor, the sweat and muscular strain now reflected in the beauty and perfection of-

“ _Harry?!_ ”

He cringed, losing grasp on the brush he was holding and dropping it right onto his shoes, leaving a huge white blotch. He turned around, his mind already scrambling for a good explanation.

“Uhm.. Hermione! Hi! I was just-”

“Harry James Potter! Are you _painting_ my _picket fence_ at seven in the bloody morning?”

Dammit, swearing. It was never a good sign.

“It's not what you think! I can explain.”

Hermione wrapped her dressing gown tightly around herself, marching furiously towards him.

“Oh, you can explain, can you?” Her hands were on her hips, her hair completely astray and she wore woolen slippers with little bunnies on them, and yet she was completely terrifying. “Because you see, when Ron heard noises outside I already knew it had to be you! It's the fucking _fourth_ time since you've left the Aurors. First the Floo, then the washing machine, then the kitchen sink at _two_ in the bloody morning, and now _this_! So feel free to explain!”

Harry took a step back, trying to at least put the paint bucket between himself and her raging fury.

“No, you see, I'm- I was just.. Mione, it needed painting! It was so-”

“ _OUT._ ”

“Eh?”

“Get. Out. I love you Harry Potter, but you need to get a job or so help me _God_ I will kill you with my own hands.”

Harry nodded, hastily grabbed paint and brush and disapparated on the spot.

He knew exactly where to go next.

 

\---§---

 

When Neville opened the door and found a smiling Harry Potter with white paint in his hair and a toolbox in his hand, he sighed loudly.

“Hi Harry. It's twelve past seven in the morning, did you know?”

“Hi mate, yeah I know. I wanted to come earlier but I had to go back home and fetch this.” He raised the toolbox. “Now, the other day Hannah mentioned a leak in the roof of your broomshed and I was wondering, can I have a look?”

Neville sighed again, passing a hand through his hair. He stepped aside while Harry made his way towards the back garden without waiting for an answer, and followed him.

“Harry, lovely to see you, but I'm quite sure Hannah didn't mention anything of the sort.”

 _Not after you demolished my living room last time just because I told you I was thinking of redecorating it_ , he wanted to add.

“Yeah, I know, not to _me_ anyway. I overheard her talking about it with Dean the other day – which by the way wasn't necessary Nev. You know I love this kind of things, I could've fixed it right away! You just had to ask. Really, it's no trouble at all.”

They entered the broomshed and Neville seriously thought about throttling Hannah while Harry, spotting the leak, set up the levitation charms to be able to reach the ceiling.

“You see, Harry, don't take this the wrong way but you tend to be a bit... _enthusiastic_ when you do this sort of work and-”

“Oh come on mate, there's nothing wrong with enjoying a bit of manual labor once in a while! After all it's the reason why I decided to leave the Aurors, isn't it? To be able to relax and have fun, have a lie in and do what I want all day long!”

The other man shot a skeptical look at his watch. _Yeah, a lie in..._  
Harry stopped for a few seconds, a nail between his lips and scratching absently at his head with the hammer.

“Say Nev, don't you think this broomshed should be a bit larger? And I'm quite sure the shape of the roof is completely off.”

Neville sighed loudly for the third time, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. It was gonna be a _long_ day.

“Mate, no offense, but you really need to get a job.”

 

\---§---

 

“George, dear, help me out for a second here.”

Angelina's uber saccharine voice carried out all the way up the stairs, loaded with a menacing note that made her husband cringe.

“Yes, honey?” he answered innocently, making his way down to the kitchen. Angelina was standing completely still halfway through the corridor and staring outside of the kitchen window, her Auror uniform still half buttoned.

“Why, for the love of Merlin, is there a _fountain_ in my backyard?”

George scratched distractedly at the back of his neck.

“Ha, you know, funny story that one. He swallowed audibly. “You see, Harry dropped by today and-”

“And you let him _in_?”

“I- what was I supposed to do? He's my friend you know! I can't just kick him out!”

Angelina turned towards him, radiating anger with every step she took.

“Pull the other one, George, he's my friend too! I distinctly remember being his partner for two years on the field, but that doesn't mean I'm not gonna kick his sorry arse for behaving like a raving lunatic and putting that.. that.. _horror_ in my house!”

George tiptoed silently back to his room, while his wife made her way towards the Floo.

“That's it, I'm calling Hermione. This thing _needs_ to stop. And the next time that- that- _madman_ shows his fat Chosen face around here George, you can tell him I don't intend to let him in until he _gets a fucking job._ ”

 

\---§---

 

Ronald Weasley answered the Floo for the third time that day with an increasing sense of unease.

“Hi Dean! What's up?”

“'lo Ron, Mione.”

“Lovely to see you Dean. Everything all right?”

Dean hesitated for a moment.

“He's over here. Again.”

Ron dropped on the couch, passing a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration.

“Bloody hell, not you too?”

“Afraid so, mate.”

“Hermione found him this morning, and _both_ Neville and Angelina already flooed today. It's getting worse.”

Dean nodded, and then looked at Hermione through the flames.

“You know, there is always Plan B.”

Hermione, slouched on the couch until that moment, suddenly sat up straight, sending Crookshanks scrambling behind the curtains.

“No way. It's gonna be a disaster and you know it.”

“Oh come on! Worse than this?” Dean's expression went positively hysteric. “Do you know what he's doing at this precise moment? He's replacing _all_ the tiles in my bathroom with others he 'picked up' on his way home. Herm! Do you know who 'picks up' tiles for other people's bathrooms? _Crazy people_!”

“I know Dean! Trust me I know! But you can't seriously expect-”

“Listen, he knows what he's doing. He's seriously competent, okay maybe even a little bit barmy but c'mon! And he helped Seamus out a great deal a few months back.”

Ron had a feeling he just missed something.

“Wait, wait. Who the hell are we talking about now?”

Hermione covered her face with a hand sighing deeply, while Dean snickered.

“Why, don't you know Ron? The best career counselor in Diagon Alley.”

 

\---§---

 

Harry looked around the empty corridor, increasingly more skeptical with every door they passed.

“Ron, mate, I'm not stupid. I know something's going on. Just tell me.”

“Haha, something going on? Why- What gave you that silly idea?” Oh god, Ron was _so bad_ at lying that Harry was almost sorry for him. “No, no, we're just- look you just need to do me this favor and have a look at this thing for me, and you'll be out and about in no time.”

Harry snorted. “Ok, let's pretend for a minute that I really believe we're visiting ' _Seamus' friend_ ' because I need to get a look at his ' _Floo_ ', which by the way sounds like the beginning of a really cheesy porn movie-”

“Eugh! Harry!” Ron scrunched his nose in disgust.

“-oh as if you don't _ever_ watch porn. Anyways, I still don't understand why I couldn't come here on my own, and why won't you tell me his name!”

Ron's expression turned into one of extreme discomfort as he looked around scrambling for an answer. Suddenly his eyes locked on something and pure relief washed on his face.

“Ha! Look Harry! We're here!”

Harry's “Here _where_ , goddammit” was interrupted by his best friend's strong grip on his shoulders, and a serious look that stunned him into silence.

“Now Harry, I want you to remember that I am doing this for your own good. So I want you to promise, _promise_ , that whatever M- Seamus' friend says or, ehm, does with his Floo, you will pay attention to it. And listen. And consider it. Seriously.”

A bit taken aback, Harry could only nod. “Ok, mate. I promise. Whatever he does with his, er, Floo. I will.”

Ron nodded back and with a swing of the arm pushed the door open and shoved him inside, closing it back again.

Harry turned around warily, slowly taking in the surroundings. From the look of it, he was standing in a very innocuous-looking office, decorated with seemingly harmless shelves and a disturbing amount of filing cabinets. A massive desk stood in the middle of the room, and behind it an armchair, turned towards the window.  
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Er, hello? I'm- my name's Harry and I'm a friend of Seamus'-”

The chair turned slowly towards him.

“Hello, Potter.”

For a split second Harry's brain refused to merge the image of the man in front of him with the memory of the scared and unpleasant boy in the months following the immediate end of the war. The smug look from their first years at Hogwarts was still there, but his shoulders were straight and broad, his jaw stronger and defined, his hair shorter.  
He wore an impressively refined dark green suit and was smirking slightly, his hands playing with a folder opened on his lap.

Harry was silent for almost a whole minute, trying to process that he was currently standing in _Draco bloody Malfoy_ ’s office. Then suddenly he opened his mouth.

“You've rehearsed this, haven't you?”

Malfoy looked taken aback for a second. Then his ears turned suspiciously pink.

“Sorry, what?”

Harry gestured vaguely at the chair. “The slow spin, Malfoy. The cheap movie-villain act. Now, if you could drop it and tell me what I'm doing here, that would be brilliant.”

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.” Malfoy sniffed, gesturing at the folder in his lap with a theatrical wave of his hand. “If you'd stop babbling for a second, we can go over your case file – which if I may say, is one of the most hopeless I've ever encountered.”

Harry blinked. “My case _what_?”

Malfoy looked at him blankly. “Potter, don't you know why you're here?”

“Er, your Floo is malfunctioning?” Please _please **please** let that be the only reason_.

Malfoy cleared his throat and started reading out loud.

“Harry J. Potter, male, 34 years old, affected by severe visual impairment and slightly overweight-”

“ _What_? I'm not- Malfoy that's bullshit!”

The other wizard carried on reading without missing a beat. “Previously employed as Auror for twelve years, preceded by three years of _Academia._ Currently showing signs of chronic transience after-”

“Chronic _what_? That doesn't even exist, Malfoy.”

“- after resigning from his position two months, twelve days and” he paused to glance at his wristwatch “four hours ago. See attached: written statement of Johnson A., Granger H. and Longbottom N.; as well as graphic illustrations of possible solutions to the issue by Thomas D. and Weasley R., which will be referred to in the following documents as 'Plan A'.”

He stopped to glance at a piece of paper he carefully extracted from the folder and raised an eyebrow. “Which apparently involves gruesome death and Manticores, Potter. You're lucky I'm here to help you, seriously.”

He turned the piece of paper, so that Harry could see the impressively detailed version of himself being mauled by beasts. He groaned loudly. This thing was getting more and more absurd.

“Ok Malfoy, first of all I still have no idea what _issue_ I supposedly have.”

“That's because you're thick, Potter. It's hardly surprising.”

Harry pretended not to have heard that. “And second, I don't see how my resigning from the Aurors is any of your business.”

Malfoy slammed the folder shut and placed it on his desk, looking straight at Harry with an annoyed expression.

“Honestly, Potter, I'm surprised you managed to stay an Auror for so long,” he said, pointing at the golden tag on his desk that read _Draco Malfoy, Career Development Consultant_. “It is my business seeing as your friends” and he gestured vaguely at the drawing “ _hired me_ , because they are so _fed up_ with you trying to fix your way out of boredom on their property, that the prospect of life in Azkaban for _homicide_ was beginning to look very good!”

Harry could feel anger surging slowly to the surface. “That's bullshit, Malfoy! Why does everybody keep saying that I'm fucking bored? I'm not! I _resigned_ for Merlin's sake, I wasn't fired! That means I voluntarily chose this life! I chose to have the freedom to do whatever the fuck I want all day long, why would I be bored of that?”

Malfoy looked ready to start a fight, and honestly Harry was feeling the same. Anger boiled up inside him, towards his fucking so-called friends, towards that fucking ferret face who couldn't mind his own damn business, and towards himself for whatever reason.

And then suddenly Malfoy stood up from his chair and turned towards the window, breathing deeply a couple of times.

“Fuck you, why is it- ” he shook his head quickly a couple of times, as to rid himself of confusing thoughts. “I'm good at what I do, believe it or not Potter,” he said firmly, still looking outside the window. Then he turned, his expression calm and collected, walked around his desk and sat on it, right in front of Harry. His hands were folded in his lap and his shoulders relaxed. He looked up at the other man.

“Potter, what you need to understand is that concepts such as 'freedom' and 'boredom' are extremely subjective, their meaning depends completely on the person you're talking to. Honestly, do you want my sincere opinion?”

He didn't wait for an answer.

“If you'd told me you wanted to quit the Aurors to enjoy the quiet life of the retired man, I would've hit you. Hard. For Merlin's sake, you couldn't even sit still for a second while you were at Hogwarts, and your first choice for a career was one where you'd have to continuously jump around catching criminals and rescuing kittens. But you know what? It's ok. You're like that. Your friends can see that Potter, hell even I can see that. Not everyone was born to sit around and look pretty all day long. If you just let me do my job, I'm sure we can find a solution for your problem.”

Harry's anger has subdued during Malfoy's speech, replaced by a discomfort he couldn't quite place. He breathed deeply and tried to sound as firm and earnest as possible.

“But that's it Malfoy. I don't have a _problem_. I don't need some kind of solution, or an intervention, or whatever this is. I'm fine. I'm really ok.”

Malfoy looked at him for a couple of seconds, and then sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Ok. If you're really convinced, then I'm afraid there's nothing more I can do for you.”

He stood up and extended his hand towards Harry, who automatically accepted it in a firm shake. “It was nice seeing you again Potter, even if that thick head of yours still hasn't changed a bit. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah, but I doubt that'll happen anytime soon.”

With a final nod of his head Harry turned around and made his way towards the door. He stopped with a hand on the handle and turned again.

“But, you know. Thanks for giving it a shot. Even if- even if it turned out not to be a real case. I appreciate it.”

Malfoy looked genuinely surprised for a second before settling back into a neutral expression.

“It's my job. It's what I do.”

Harry nodded once more and went out of the door.

 

\---§---

 

Harry was going mad.

He was bored out of his arse, and after re- _re_ -painting his own front door he was ready to admit defeat.

Checking out his friends' houses wasn't even an option, not after the stunt they pulled with Malfoy. In all honesty, he was still a bit offended. Seriously, just because he was a bit overzealous in his handiwork that didn't mean they had to go and involve _Draco Malfoy_ , for Merlin's sake.

The man was a goddamned puzzle in Harry's head. One second he looked like the snotty brat whose greatest joy was insulting Harry and gloating on his misery, and the next he was looking all sympathetic and concerned for Harry's welfare.

And then there was Seamus. Ron had explained that they had chosen Malfoy because he was the one who found a job for Seamus, and hell, even Harry knew that the Irishman had never been so happy and satisfied.

He shook his head forcefully. It wouldn't do him any good to keep thinking about _Malfoy_ of all people. He would go out, take a walk and breathe some fresh air. He would show them, he didn't need to work to be happy.

 

\---§---

 

“I'm not saying I have a problem,” Harry said forcefully while entering Malfoy's office. “I'm just willing to hear you out. That's it.”

Malfoy looked up from the files on his desk and smirked knowingly.

“Of course Potter. Have a seat.”

Harry sat down, watching as Malfoy moved around the office. The other man gathered quickly the papers on his desk and moved them to the side. Then he opened a drawer and fished out some measuring tape, an object that looked like a metronome and a weird looking tuning fork. He pulled some other papers from one of the filing cabinets and placed them on his desk.

“Great. Let's get started then, shall we?” he said, with a joyous look on his face. Harry didn't know whether to be reassured or deeply unnerved.

Malfoy put on a pair of reading glasses and looked straight at him.

“Favorite color.”

Harry blinked, still trying to process the fact that he found the glasses weirdly attractive.

“Er- what?”

“Do try and keep up Potter. This is the easy part. Favorite color?”

A flash of Malfoy's suit from a couple of days earlier passed through Harry's mind.

“Er, green.”

Malfoy scribbled on the paper. “Left or right handed? Never mind I know this one. This one as well. Oh, this one then: do you prefer high socks or low cut socks?”

And so it went for fifteen good minutes, with the weirdest collection of questions Harry had ever heard, and he obediently answered every single one of them. Malfoy was completely absorbed in the task at hand ( _Have you ever been engaged in physical combat with an elderly woman?_ ), so Harry had a good chance to _really_ look at him.

Malfoy wasn't a beautiful man. His face was still pointy and his hairline was receding, his nose slightly crooked to the left ( _Do you feel intimidated by vegetarians?_ ). He had very elegant hands though: long fingers and soft-looking skin. He squashed the urge to touch them and forced himself to pay attention to what the other man was asking ( _Have you ever painted your nails, Potter? If so, with glitter or without?_ ).

Once the bizarre questionnaire was over, Malfoy reached for the objects he had gathered at the beginning of the session.

“Stand up Potter.”

Malfoy circled the desk and approached Harry, while the measuring tape started moving around on its own. A distinct image of Ollivander flashed through Harry's mind, and he smiled softly.

Meanwhile Malfoy started hitting the tuning fork with his wand repeatedly, with increasing frustration.

“This damned thing never works the first time.” He muttered, bumping the object on the desk a couple of time for good measure.

Harry smirked. “Having performance issues there, Malfoy?” His grin got wider as Malfoy's ears turned pink. The other man shot him an annoyed look, and hit the tuning fork with his wand once more.

A trilling sound filled the room, and Malfoy grinned. The sound remained steady and loud while the man circled Harry slowly, a bit too close for comfort, whispering and waving the peculiar object up and down.

“You look like a madman like this, just so you know. Waving stuff around and muttering to yourself- ouch! And hitting defenseless people!”

“Stay still, Pothead, or I'll hit you again.” Harry shot him an innocent smile, to which Malfoy replied scowling. “This _stuff,_ as you put it, it's what you're here for.”

Harry eyed skeptically the humming instrument. “Really.”

“Yes Potter, _really_. Every wizard is a unique individual, with unique skills and magical ability, with unique desires, lifestyle and strength of character.” He paused and placed the metronome in Harry's hand, starting it with the tip of his wand.

“Here, hold this.” He resumed his waving movements. “You see, to find a job for someone, a workplace where they can give their best and _feel_ their best, is not trivial. I need to have a clear picture of the person you are right now, and of the person you want to be. Your magic can tell me a lot about that.”

“And a weird set of questions and some music are gonna help you on that?” Harry asked. Malfoy stopped in his tracks and flashed him an annoyed look. “Sorry, sorry, that came out wrong. I'm just- I'm just curious Malfoy, seriously.”

Malfoy looked at him for a second and then nodded. He continued with an overly-pompous tone. “I'll have you know that those questions were _carefully selected_ by me and a few other illustrious colleagues, and that I most certainly did _not_ come up with the one on nail polish and glitter.”

Harry smirked, and Malfoy winked at him. _Winked_. Harry lost his train of thought for a moment. Then the other man carried on as if nothing had happened and stopped all the instruments with a wave of his wand, placing them back in the drawer. He gestured at Harry to sit down again, and moved towards the humongous filing cabinets on the side of the office.

Harry sat in silence while Malfoy rummaged through what sounded like a huge amount of paper. Honestly, he didn't know what to think. Malfoy had obviously changed, and seeing him behave so maturely and _grown up_ was unsettling. The way in which he had easily resumed his composure the other day, when they were both on the brink of rage, or the professional way he was handling Harry's case. If the roles were reversed Harry couldn't imagine it going so smoothly.

Malfoy was clearly good at what he did, and certainly this was the kind of job for which you needed to know your way around all kinds of people. Old school nemesis included, apparently. He felt an unexpected surge of envy towards the other man; Malfoy looked like he belonged in there, like he had found his place.

Suddenly he felt the insanity of the whole situation crash on him, and squashed the urge to stand up and get out of there as fast as possible.

“So all set up then?” He inquired, just to break the oppressive silence. “Have you already got all you need from me? No blood samples or body parts?” he tried to joke.

Malfoy smirked, without lifting his gaze from the file he was going through. “No Potter, you can relax. I'm not as desperate as to resort to pagan rituals just yet. Now it's only a matter of picking the right job for you.”

“Right. Well then, let's hope you really are as good as they say uh? So that you can ship me off with my brand new job and never see my bespectacled face again.” he babbled, without really knowing what to say.

Malfoy stopped. He closed the folder in his hands and stayed still for a few seconds, apparently immersed in his thoughts.

“Everything all right?” Harry inquired.

Malfoy snapped out of it and looked at him. “Uh? Yeah. Yes, yes, of course. No it's just- it just occurred to me that I've been looking in the wrong place. Right.” He put the folder back and closed the drawer. Then crossed the room and eyed suspiciously another filing cabinet. “Mmh, let's see.”

He opened the last drawer at the bottom and took out a thick set of folders with a triumphant expression and placed them on the desk. “Here you go Potter! Splendid. Come here and pick one.”

Harry got closer and glanced at some of the folder names. He narrowed his eyes. “Teddy bear _repair technician_? Snake milker?” He looked up at Malfoy. “Is this some sort of joke?”

Malfoy bristled. “Of course not, Potter. I told you, I'm good at what I do.” he smirked. “These are, as a matter of fact, some of the _best_ offers I've got, Potter.”

“Ok, sorry. It's just- you have to admit some of them have very ridiculous names.” He paused to read some more. “ _Nail polish namer_? Honestly what's wrong with you and nail polish?” he laughed.

“Oh, stuff it. These are not for everyone's eyes you know! I thought you would be up to the task Potter, but if you're not interested...”

Harry raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Ok, ok, touchy. Hey, this doesn't sound too bad.” He pointed at a folder titled _Employee in Willoughby's Waterbed Workshop._ He opened the folder and read briefly the description: blah blah _close and frequent contact with customers_ , blah blah _delivering and setup responsibilities_ , and so on and so forth _offered apprenticeship in building magical waterbeds_.

“I've always wanted a waterbed when I was a kid. This sounds like fun!” He grinned at Malfoy, who was smiling back at him.

“Brilliant Potter. I'll contact Mr. Willoughby right away and owl you the details this evening.” He shook Harry's extended hand and continued. “But remember Potter, sometimes it takes a few tries, so don't be too disappointed ok?”

Harry nodded. “Sure Malfoy, no problem. In the meantime, thanks a lot! I'm actually quite excited.” He smiled at the other man and waved goodbye, then he left the office.

Harry felt full of hope on the way home, and was sure this was gonna be a totally new adventure. Thinking back to earlier he smiled to himself. Draco Malfoy was a nice man, who would've thought?

 

\---§---

 

Draco Malfoy was a dead man. He was gonna die a painful and slow death, Harry would make sure of that.

He marched along the corridor to the man's office, mud falling off his shoes at every step and _god_ the awful smell he had carried around for two days tainting the air around him. The few people he met along the way either scurried away or stared at him with gobsmacked expressions, much to his shame and dismay.

Once in front of the right office he banged the door open. Malfoy startled, raising his head from the files on his desk, and then smirked slowly.

“Hello Potter. Do come in,” he said, shuffling the papers away and crossing his hands on the desk. “What can I do for you?”

Harry felt his fury rising with every step he took towards the other man.

“God Potter, you stink.” Malfoy's smirk got wider. “I wonder if I still have those nifty little badges somewhere. Ah, some of my best-”

“ _Cows_ , Malfoy.” Harry planted his hands firmly on the desk.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said fucking _COWS_. Those were waterbeds. For. Cows. Did you simply forget to tell me about it? One small little _detail_? Because you see, that- that- _madman_ Willoughby is actually convinced that cows produce better milk if they sit their _stinky fat ass_ on a fucking _waterbed_ that I had to carry around and install for them!”

“He's actually right you know, he did some brilliant research-” Harry gave him a murderous look. “Right. But you see, I did not forget to mention it, Potter. It was all written in the file you read three days ago.”

Malfoy moved towards the small cabinet from last time and pulled out a folder from the stack of files, handing it to Harry who opened it and started reading through it out loud.

“ _Close and frequent contact with customers,_ yeah too fucking close if you ask me. God I never want to see a cow ever again. _Delivering and setup responsibilities_ , oh this is precious. Do you know what I had to do, Malfoy?” He started to pace around the office, folder in one hand and his free arm waving around. “I had to walk into those stables paved with cow shit and _drag out_ old mattresses, that by the way had been soaking up nasty for _years,_ and _drag in_ a fucking huge waterbed that weighted about a fucking ton!”

He was probably ranting like a lunatic, but at the moment he couldn't care less. “And _of course_ I couldn't use magic, because you know what it does?” He paused, breathing heavily. “It _UPSETS_ the cows! A tiny bit of magic, and a cow flicks her tail and suddenly it's raining shit! _”_ He yelled _. “_ What the fuck do I care if some huge bovine is upset?! _I'm upset_!”

Malfoy hurried towards him and took the folder from his hands, patting his arms in what was probably meant to be a comforting way.

“Ok, Potter, but now calm down. It's over. You're right, it was a shitty job.” He glanced down at Harry's shoes, covered in something that was probably not mud. “Ehm, no pun intended.”

Harry breathed a couple of times and closed his eyes, trying to regain composure.

“Yeah. Right. But still I saw no mention of cows in the fucking job description Malfoy.”

The other man opened the folder and turned around the page that Harry was reading a few moments earlier. There, at the bottom, there was a very small note.

_Willoughby's Waterbed Workshop, specializing in creating comfortable beddings for cattle and calves of all sizes and breeds._

Harry blinked. For a moment he wasn't sure whether he wanted to _throttle_ Malfoy or break down and cry. He did neither, as he felt a rush of magic sweep over him and suddenly found himself impeccably clean. He looked up at Malfoy, who with a few more wand movements banished the smell and summoned a steaming teapot and two bright green cups, depressingly decorated with flower patterns.

“Sit down Potter, you've had a rough couple of days.”

Harry sat, still baffled and a bit discouraged, while Malfoy placed one of those horrid cups in his hand and sat on the desk in front of him.

“I told you, sometimes it takes a couple of tries to get the right one. Shall we try this again?”

Harry sipped his tea and nodded, and Malfoy handed him a folder from the stack.

“Here. You like to work with your hands, don't you?” Harry nodded again and took it, reading the title.

 _Clerk and apprentice baker at Diana's Donuts._ Feeling a bit restored, and just a tiny bit curious, he read _carefully_ the content of the folder. Twice.

“Ok Malfoy, you have my attention. Now, are you _positively_ sure that this is totally what it looks like, and I won't find myself surrounded by _shit throwing monkeys_ or something like that?”

Malfoy smiled. “Cross my heart Potter. That is totally what it looks like.”

 

\---§---

 

“It was _not_ what it looked like.”

Harry slammed the door of Malfoy's office behind him as he entered, two days later. The blond looked at him from above the rim of his reading glasses, and his eyebrows shot ridiculously high.

Harry was covered from head to toe in flour, had a smear of what looked like pink glaze on his right cheek and a handful of colorful sprinkles in his hair.

“Well, at least it's an improvement from manure.”

Malfoy set aside his glasses and summoned tea once again, while Harry plopped himself on his usual chair, in a puff of white, and sighed heavily.

“It was bloody haunted. A _haunted donut shop_ , Malfoy. It was a nightmare from the first moment.” He accepted the cup of tea and drank avidly, already feeling a bit better.

“You don't say,” Malfoy said evenly, the man's gaze intently focused on his cup.

“I swear! And a fucking angry poltergeist too. There was flour everywhere: in the bloody kitchen, on us, on the counter, and even on the customers! And you should have seen the dough! God if you weren't careful that thing could swallow you whole. Diana had to drag me out by a foot, I was bloody suffocating!”

Malfoy looked like he was fighting a laugh. Harry continued. “Yeah ok, _maybe_ it sounds a little bit funny _now_ , but I can assure you it wasn't funny _at all_ when it happened. I don't even know how that place still has customers! Seriously, sometimes it bloody _rained_ sprinkles. It poured so _hard_ you couldn't even see right in front of your nose! And it hurt too.”

Malfoy snickered openly now, and pointed at Harry's hair. “Yeah, I guess that explains why your hair looks like a carnival party.”

Harry run a hand through his hair and groaned. “Oh what the fuck! Again? Malfoy could you please...” and waved his hand around himself. Malfoy picked up his wand and cleaned him up, his lips still curved in a smirk.

“Thanks. And stop laughing for God's sake.” But Harry could feel a smile stretching his own lips.

“So, I guess we can rule out a future as a baker. Ah, such a shame, I could already imagine you in a frilly apron opening your first store.” He dried imaginary tears from his eyes. “The Chosen Bagels, best bakery in all of Diagon Alley-”

“Oh stuff it.” Harry laughed. “No, it's definitely _not_ in my future. You can throw away any hope of seeing me in an apron.”

Malfoy looked at him, his lips slowly stretching in a malicious smirk. “Oh, that _is_ a shame.”

Harry felt himself blush for no apparent reason. He cleared his throat.

“So, what next Malfoy?”

The other man stood up and walked to the usual cabinet, extracting the familiar pile of folders from the last drawer and putting them on the desk in front of Harry.

“Choose away Potter, we have nothing but possibilities here.”

Harry skimmed through them once more.

“What do you think about _plants_ , Malfoy?”

 

\---§---

 

Harry entered Malfoy's office for the fourth time, feeling exhaustion claw at his body. He blinked when he found another man sitting in his usual chair, a weird sense of betrayal surging from the back of his mind.

Malfoy looked up at him when he heard the door click closed. He gasped and shot up straight, dropping his glasses and knocking over the inkpot.

“For Merlin's sake Potter, what the fuck happened to you?” He hurried over the barely standing man, shooting an apologetic look to the guy in front of his desk.

“Sorry Alan, would you mind? We're finished anyways, you have the folder I gave you right?” The other man nodded, looking at Harry as if he was afraid he could drop dead any second, and scurried out of the door.

Harry leaned heavily on Malfoy, who practically carried him over and deposited him on the chair, kneeling beside him.

“'m sorry Malfoy, did I scare your customer away?” Harry slurred.

Malfoy looked at him, whipping out his wand. “Never you mind about that Potter. Merlin you look awful! Are those _bite marks_? How did you get that horrid black eye?” He started healing all the small scratches that covered every inch of Harry's skin, while the other man moaned in pain.

“Carnivorous plants.”

“Sorry, what?”

“It was not 'Plant delivery boy for _Florian's Flabbergasting Flowers'._ It was _carnivorous_ plant delivery boy. Carnivorous and goddamned hungry.” He sighed as Malfoy went over his black eye with his wand.

“Oh but I fought back, I tell you.” He waved his arms weakly around in what he hoped was a menacing fighting move. “I showed them what it means trying to _eat_ the sodding Chosen One. Ha!”

Malfoy's worried expression disappeared as he melted in a soft laugh. Harry found that it was suddenly important to keep him laughing.

“You should've seen me Malfoy, I've got some wicked moves.” God what the fuck was he saying? He sounded like one of those veela-smitten idiots. “I looked like bloody Tarzan with a wand at some point, yelling like a monkey with creepers all around my legs.”

“Yeah, I bet you did.” Malfoy smirked, healing the last bite marks from Harry's neck and shoulder. Harry felt a shiver run through his spine at the other man's gentle touch. “Tell me, was there a leather loincloth as well? Because _that_ would've been worth seeing.”

Harry snickered, feeling heat rise up his neck, and smacked Malfoy on the head. “You git.”

He breathed deeply, fighting exhaustion.

“So Malfoy, up with the next one.”

Malfoy stood up and started tidying up his desk. “Not a chance Potter. You're _way_ too tired and I'm _way_ beyond my office hours.” He turned to look at Harry one more time.

“Come on. I'll floo you home and you can come by tomorrow to get your file.”

Harry snickered. “How chivalrous, Malfoy.”

The other man scowled. “Only this once, Potter, and only because I don't want you ending up Merlin knows where. Your brain has enough difficulties without being half asleep.”

Harry laughed. “Ok then, I graciously accept. _Prick_.”

They walked downstairs in silence, Harry too tired to hold up a decent conversation and Malfoy caught up in his own thoughts. When they got to the main hall, Malfoy put a hand on Harry's waist and gently guided him towards one of the Floos.

Ok, and _maybe_ Harry was leaning a bit too much on Malfoy as they stepped in together. And _maybe,_ when he realized Malfoy was waving at another guy in the hallway, he got even closer and kind of snuggled on his chest.

“Whoa Potter, hold on,” said Malfoy, tightening his grip around his waist. _Mmmh_ , _nice._

“We're almost there. It's Grimmauld Place right? Aunt's old house?”

Harry nodded, while Malfoy threw a handful of Floo powder and shouted their destination to the flames. Emerald green surrounded them, and they disappeared in a whirl of smoke.

 

\---§---

 

The first thing Harry saw as they stumbled out of the fireplace was his couch. Oh, it had never looked so comfortable and inviting. He turned around to look at Malfoy, who was carefully observing the surroundings.

“I'd offer you a drink Malfoy, but I don't think I'd get any further than the couch.” He smiled weakly. God, what an awful impression he must've been doing. The other man nodded.

“Don't worry. I know you've had quite the day.” He turned to leave.

Harry assumed it was because exhaustion had gotten the best of him, but he couldn't stop himself from speaking.

“Your tie.” Malfoy stopped and looked down at his tie, bottle-green silk, and then back up at him. Harry felt himself flush. “I- I like it. It's my favorite color.” He looked down hoping, _praying_ that the ground would swallow him up _now_.

“Goodnight Potter.” God, he could _feel_ the smirk in Malfoy's voice. “See you tomorrow.”

And just like that, he was gone.

\---§---

 

When Harry woke up, there wasn't a single muscle in his body that wasn't hurting like hell. He dragged himself up from the couch and moved _slowly_ towards the kitchen, craving a cup of coffee. His thoughts, as it had happened ever so often in the last few days, were full of Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy and his smirk, his laugh and his manners. Malfoy and his suit, his tie and his horrible green little teacups. Malfoy in his reading glasses, sitting on his desk, with his legs ever so slightly opened. Malfoy with his hands on Harry's wrists, pushing him up against one of those cabinets, his mouth hot on Harry's neck and-

“-rry? Harry? Are you at home?”

Harry almost dropped his cup, flushing a deep red when he realized the direction his thoughts were taking.

“Yeah, coming!” _If only_.

He ran towards the floo in the living room, where Seamus' smiling face was nestled between the flames.

“Hi mate! What's up?” Harry sat in front of the fireplace.

“Oi Harry! Nice to see you mate! I was wondering how it went with Malfoy. Dean just told me about it.”

“Oh it's not too bad. You know, a bit awkward at first but we're getting along just fine.”

Seamus' expression turned surprised. “You're still seeing him?”

“Yeah, you know. For- for the job. I tried out two or three, still getting there.”

“Oh. That's weird.”

Harry stilled. “Weird? Why?”

“No I suppose it's all right. I mean, he knows how to do his job, I'll give him that. It's just...”

“Just _what_ Seamus?”

“Just that, you know, I went to see him because he has a certain... reputation. The story that goes around is that nobody ever needs to go there twice.” He smiled at Harry. “He just takes a good look at you, waves 'round those weird looking things he's got, and _bam_! Magic's done.”

“Yeah well, he did that! All the waving and stuff. It's just- he gave me like six or seven options, I'm still going through them.”

Seamus still looked unconvinced. “Yeah that's what I'm saying, Harry. That's not how it usually happens. _Usually_ he hands you one folder, only one, and when you look at it, you know. You know that it's what you've been looking for since the beginning, and you know it without a doubt. He can read people like open books! It's amazing! Although it's not surprising that with you... you know.”

Harry bristled. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Seamus looked unsure for a moment. “Nothin' Harry. It's just- you two have quite the complicated history. You know.”

Harry exhaled slowly. “Yeah, believe me, I know.”

“Well, let me know how this ends all right? Cheers Harry!”

Harry forced out a smile. “Sure Seamus. Thanks for calling.”

He turned away as his friend’s head disappeared through the flames and got up from the floor. God, that had been a quick way to dampen his mood. He moved to the kitchen to refill his cup and sat on the counter drinking slowly, brooding over the whole matter.

Maybe Malfoy was really holding some kind of grudge? But it didn't _look_ like he did, with all the winking and the smiling and the fucking _apron jokes_ , for God's sake!  
Maybe it was Harry himself. Maybe he didn't really want a job, so he kept finding a way to drop the ones that Malfoy was proposing to him.

He suddenly felt defeated, with no desire whatsoever to continue the farce and go pick another job just to refuse it all over again. Maybe what he _really_ needed was some time away, to get some perspective on what he wanted to do with his life. A trip to Amsterdam didn't sound so bad. Or Copenhagen.

He got up, placed his cup in the sink, and summoned ink and some parchment.

 

_Hi Malfoy._

_I'm sorry but after the last failure I'm not sure I want to continue my quest for a job. I feel like I'm losing my time and yours.  
Thank you for all your hard work, this has been unexpectedly fun._

_Cheers,_

_~~Har~~ Potter._

 

A bit brief, a bit impersonal maybe, but at the moment he didn't care much. He attached the missive to Athena's leg, a golden barn owl he got when he graduated from _Academia,_ and sent her out of the window _._ The reply came in less than half an hour.

 

_Potter._   
_Meet me at the office in two hours._   
_M._

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. Wow, it appeared Malfoy had completely ignored him. _Prick_.

Of course, he went.

 

\---§---

 

Harry sat down in his usual chair, accepting the usual cup of tea.

“Malfoy, listen. Thank you for inviting me here once more but-”

“Shush Potter.” The other man sat with his hand on the usual pile of folders. “Just take a look at these one more time. Just once. It's all I'm asking.” He pushed the pile towards Harry with a pleading look.

Harry sighed. “Ok Malfoy, ok. Just stop with the puppy eyes, you're creeping me out.”

He took the pile in his lap, and went through the familiar titles once again. Then his heart almost stopped.  
There, in between all the weird names and unknown professions, there was something new.

_Apprentice Broommaker at Nimbus R.B.C._

Harry opened the folder almost reverently, and scanned the inside. He almost _came_ in his pants when, under the section 'Supervisor _',_ he read the name _Randolph Spudmore:_ the man who created the _Firebolt_.

Merlin, this was _gold_. It was perfection. It was _exactly_ what Harry had been looking for.

_...you know that it's what you've been looking for since the beginning, and you know it without a doubt._

Seamus' voice in his head stopped him dead on his tracks. He glanced up at Malfoy, apparently engrossed in paperwork, and then back down to the folder in his hands. This hadn't been in the pile last time, nor the time before last, nor the first time Harry had entered Malfoy's office. But then _why_ the date on the cover indicated that this folder had been sitting in Malfoy's office for at least two weeks?

 _There could be a million reasons_ , his brain helpfully provided. _Maybe he was giving the job to somebody else, and they refused. Maybe he forgot he had it and he found it this morning._

But Harry knew. The pieces were coming together, and suddenly all the crappy jobs made sense. God, this was all some kind of cosmic _joke_. So Malfoy _was_ holding a grudge, and he _was_ inflicting his twisted revenge on Harry by shipping him off to one ridiculous job after the other. And then, when Harry thought about giving up, he fucking _slithered in_ the good one to avoid losing his reputation.

Fuck, what an idiot he'd been. And he thought Malfoy was being nice, he even thought he was _flirting_ with him! Ha! More like getting a good laugh at his expenses.

He shut the folder close, and breathed in deeply. Fine, so Malfoy wanted to play dirty, but keep his reputation intact? Very well. Harry could take anything the other guy wanted to throw at him, but he would make sure all the Wizarding World would know that the guy was a _fraud_.

_Nice one, Potter. Go outside and whine. So grown up._

_Shut up._

He got up and extracted a random folder from the pile. Malfoy looked up at him expectantly.

“So?”

Harry forced his mouth to smile. “You know what Malfoy? Thanks for not giving up on me. I'm really feeling better, let's keep this going. Here, look: _broom courier for Peacock's Parcels and Packages._ Doesn't it sound nice?”

Malfoy's look went from confused to incredulous. “But-”

“Ah, no buts Malfoy. You dragged me back into this, you'll have to be patient for a little while longer. So, are you calling the guy or not?” He left the folder on the desk and made his way out. “Tell him I'll be there tomorrow morning at nine!”

He looked behind his shoulder to enjoy Malfoy's gobsmacked expression one last time, then left.

 

\---§---

 

When he got back to the office a few days later, he'd already started to regret his decision. Honestly, how did Malfoy manage to whip out so many _horrible_ offers would always remain a mystery. God, he hoped _nobody_ would ever accept one of those.

He greeted Malfoy with a nod, and plopped on what he now considered his chair.

“So, guess what. Apparently it was ' _international_ broom courier', and after flying for ten fucking hours to get to fucking Norway, I said _no thanks_ and Apparated back.”

Malfoy made a non committal sound, and pushed the stack of folders towards Harry one more time. Harry smiled at him.

“What, no comfort tea this time?” and then winked. He enjoyed the flush creeping up Malfoy's neck as the guy summoned teapot and cups, and reached for the first folder in the stack.

“Oh, wow. _Pheasant beater_. This sounds... er- interesting! I think I'll give it a try.”

Malfoy banged the teacup on the desk and stood up. “Stop it, Potter.”

Harry looked up with his best innocent expression. “What, Malfoy? You're the one who convinced me to try again-”

“Cut it out. I know you saw it. You practically lit up like a Christmas tree when you picked it up.”

Harry smiled. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh cut the crap, Potter! Why didn't you pick that one? Why are you doing this?”

Harry stilled. He threw the folder back on the top of the pile and got up, suddenly furious.

“Why am _**I**_ doing this?” He took a step towards the other man, slamming his hands on the desk. “ _Really_? How about _you_ cut the crap! And tell me, since we're here: how long have you had that offer lying about in your office?”

Malfoy pressed his lips in a thin line.

“ _How long_ , Malfoy.”

The other man's only answer was a shrug. Harry's rage spiked up dangerously.

“Oh, you don't know, do you? Well then, let me tell you. You've had this offer since the beginning. You had it the day I stepped in your office, and you _knew_ , you _fucking knew_ this was the one for me. But oh no, why give it to me and waste the perfect chance to see me _choking_ on all the other crappy jobs you had lying around since probably the beginning of time!” He pushed away from the desk, as fucking far away from Malfoy as possible.

Malfoy circled the desk to get closer to Harry. “No, wait. I did- I just-”

“You just _what_ exactly?” Harry glared at him. “You know what? Fuck you. Just tell me, was it worth it? Did you have a good laugh?”

Malfoy looked annoyed. “Fuck _you_ Potter. I'm not that person anymore."

“Well, what the fuck do I know! I was covered in shit, in fucking _sprinkles_ , a bunch of plants tried to digest me and I almost froze to death on my way to Norway on a fucking _broom_! But you're right, you're not _that person_ anymore, that vindictive little brat who didn't know any better than not to be an absolute _shit_ to everybody and-”

“ _SHUT UP_! For fuck's sake Potter shut up and let me explain, or I swear to Morgana...”

“What? You'll give me another shitty job? Oh, I am so scared right now-”

Malfoy moved suddenly towards him, grabbed him by a sleeve, put a hand on the back of his head, and then kissed him.

Harry's angry rant was lost between the heat of Malfoy's mouth and the painful grip on his hair, which was turning him on more than he thought possible. He grabbed Malfoy's tie with a hand and his hip with the other, moaning as he opened his mouth to meet Malfoy's tongue, hot and wet and _perfect_.

He pushed the other man away. “I'm angry at you, dickhead.” He panted. God he was _so_ turned on.

Malfoy stepped closer again and put both hands on Harry's hips, pushing him towards the desk and pressing him against it.

“Who the fuck cares,” he murmured, slightly breathless, and leaned in to kiss him again.

Harry's brain disconnected completely when he felt the other man's erection pressed against his thigh. His own cock throbbed in response, and he opened his legs to allow Malfoy to come closer and - _oh fuck just like that_ – grind their cocks one against the other.

Malfoy was kissing his neck and his hands were everywhere, trying to grope and undress him at the same time, and Harry was gonna _die_ because it was definitely not possible to be this turned on and still remember how to _breathe_.

He hastily unbuttoned Malfoy's shirt, and pushed his jacket off his shoulders. The other man lifted his hands from Harry's body just enough for him to slide the jacket off and throw it on the floor, and then resumed his exploration while sucking on a particularly sensitive spot on Harry's neck.

“Oh _God_ Malfoy. I want you so much,” Harry panted. “ _Please_.”

Malfoy raised his head and looked at Harry in the eyes for the first time since they had started to argue. Hid pupils were blown, his hair was a mess and his faced flushed. His lips were red and swollen and Harry had never seen anything so _hot_ in all his life. Harry leaned in and slowly kissed him, his hands slipping the tie from Malfoy's neck before letting it fall forgotten onto the ground. His mouth moved to Malfoy's jaw, then his neck, then his collarbone.

Malfoy moaned. “I want to fuck you on this desk, Potter.”

God, Harry almost came just thinking about it. The other man continued.

“I've wanted to do it since the first day you came to me.” He slid Harry's t-shirt over his head and threw it somewhere in the back of the room. Then he pushed him down into the cool dark, shiny wood of the desk, and leaned to kiss his stomach while undoing Harry's belt. “I've wanted to do it every day since you came here the first time.” He slid off Harry's trousers and mouthed his cock through the fabric of his briefs, distractedly summoning something from one of the drawers.

“Fuck Malfoy, hurry up.” Harry was having a hard time controlling himself. Malfoy slid his underwear off his thighs and finally, _finally_ took Harry's cock in his mouth. Harry moaned loudly, spreading his legs as wide as they could go as Malfoy slid two wet fingers down his cock, stoking his testicles, and finally inside him.

“Oh fuck, yeah” Harry panted, caught up between pushing inside Malfoy's mouth on towards his fingers. “Hurry up, _please_.”

Malfoy stood up, his fingers still moving slowly inside Harry, and quickly unzipped his trousers and lowered them together with his underwear. God, what a sight. His hair all messed up and his white shirt completely opened, exposing a pale lean chest and a trail of white blond hair leading straight to his gorgeous, throbbing cock.

Malfoy lubed himself up and extracted his fingers from Harry's arse, replacing them with the head of his cock.

God, the feeling of being slowly filled in was overwhelming, and Harry gripped the edge of the desk with one hand and his own cock with the other, while Malfoy's hand gripped his hips tightly as thrust deeper.

“Fuck Potter. Oh, God.” Malfoy's eyes were closed and his expression focused, his hips moving slowly and hitting Harry's thighs with a delicious _slap_ at every push.

“Yeah Malfoy, faster. Please, faster. Ah- ah- oh fuck yes _there_ Malfoy.” Fuck he was going to come so _hard._ Malfoy was fucking him in earnest now, with deep, strong thrusts each sending violent shivers up his spine. The grip on his hips was almost painful, turning him on even more.

He could feel Malfoy's cock hitting his prostate again and again and _again_ , and all he needed was Malfoy's hand joining his own on his cock and he was shouting his orgasm for all the world to hear. Malfoy's eyes were fixed on him as his movements turned frantic, and with a few deep thrusts into Harry's body he was coming as well, moaning loudly.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to reconnect his brain, while Malfoy slowly pulled out and reached for his wand, casting a couple of cleaning spells. He was again avoiding his gaze.

Harry lifted his back from the desk, sitting on it still completely naked, and drew Malfoy close for another kiss. They kissed gently, slowly, and Harry could feel the other man relaxing against his body.

Malfoy broke the kiss and rested his forehead on Harry's shoulder, his body still nestled between Harry's naked thighs. He exhaled slowly.

“See,” he started, his voice still rough. “I knew that if I'd given you that job, I wouldn't have had a chance to see you again, Potter. I don't ever see _any_ of my customers more than once and- well, I just couldn't let it happen with you.”

Harry kissed Malfoy's earlobe, putting his arms around his shoulders.

“It's just- I don't know Potter, I couldn't help it. Every time I saw you I'd get this- this- _thing_ , and all I could think about is that I wanted you for myself. Screw my job, screw _your_ job, screw everything else.”

Harry couldn't believe this. Of all the possible explanations this was the most stupid, adorable and infuriating.

“You know Malfoy, there's this thing that people do. It's called _going on a date,_ and it doesn't involve cow shit or poltergeists. You should try it.”

Malfoy smacked him on the arm. “Yeah Potter, sure. I can see how well that would've gone. _Hey, we haven't seen each other in years and I made your school years a living hell, but I think you're hot. Wanna get a cup of coffee?”_ He laughed. “Splendid.”

Harry snickered. “Ok, fair enough.”

Malfoy sighed and raised his head, looking at him. “I believe that I have behaved very unprofessionally towards you since the beginning, Potter. I owe you an apology.”

Harry nodded and kissed him. Then Malfoy reached over and grabbed the folder with the _Nimbus_ logo on it.

“Now, would you please, _please_ accept the job? I promise it's the right one.”

Harry pretended to mull over it, a pensive expression and a hand on his chin.

“Oh I don't know, I kinda want to know what a ' _pheasant beater_ ' is...”

Malfoy smacked him again. “Prick. I can beat you up anytime you want. Now do say _yes_.”

Harry smirked maliciously. “Mmh, let's see. What could you possibly do to convince me?” He bent slightly to lick Malfoy's neck. “I believe you mentioned something about ' _behaving very unprofessionally_ '. Do you want to try that again?”

Harry saw a flash of green and found his hands bound up in Malfoy's silk tie.

The folder with the Nimbus logo fell on the ground, momentarily forgotten.

“Oh, believe me Potter. I can be _very_ unprofessional.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) All the job titles mentioned in this story are real jobs, or at least 'wizarding adaptations' of real jobs. Yes, this includes selling waterbeds for cows, milking snakes and repairing teddy bears. Any google search with keywords such as “unusual jobs” will satisfy your curiosity forever (and make you kind of appreciate your current job).
> 
> 2) Nimbus R.B.C. Is short for Nimbus Racing Broom Company, and Randolph Spudmore is the man who came up with the Firebolt. This information comes directly from Pottermore.
> 
> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or [on Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/83006.html).


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